


In Lovers Meeting

by nevertothethird



Category: Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship/Love, Male-Female Friendship, Platonic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-02 23:35:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4078114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevertothethird/pseuds/nevertothethird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets originally written as part of the <a href="http://nevertothethird.tumblr.com/post/113549071081/veronica-mars-movie-anniversary-week">Veronica Mars Movie Anniversary week</a>, March 2015 on tumblr. </p><p>Logan and Veronica meet in seven different ways: college best-friends, best-friend's stepsister, co-workers at the same law firm, childhood next door neighbors, guests at a wedding, cast members in the same play, coffee shop acquaintances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Be My Escape

**Author's Note:**

> **Favorite Scene** – a ficlet inspired by these two exchanges of partnership, adorable banter, Veronica calling Logan ‘child’ and Logan acting like a gossipy teenager.
> 
>  **Veronica:** No freaking way.  
>  **Logan:** Update please.  
>  **Veronica:** Yeah, Gia and Cobb are totally about to do it.  
>  **Logan:** Are you serious? 
> 
> **Veronica:** I need to get a closer look.  
>  **Logan:** Veronica –  
>  **Veronica:** I’m not gonna break in. I’m just gonna drop by for a hang.  
>  **Logan:** She could be a murderer.  
>  **Veronica:** Child, please. It’s Gia Goodman. The day I can’t handle Gia Goodman.
> 
> An AU wherein Veronica and Lilly were best-friends for always, met Logan in college, and now Veronica is best-friends with them both.

“Cake year my eye,” Veronica said, hefting her messenger bag higher on her shoulder. Three months into senior year and she already sometimes mistook her own reflection for that of the undead. As much as she wanted to follow the example of her friends and turn on cruise control these final months she couldn’t. The oppressive and judgmental presence of law school acceptance was ever looming.

The University of San Diego had been her undergrad backup school. Wasn’t even a consideration, really. But then they offered her a full tuition scholarship while Stanford offered one that covered less than a third. Before freshman year even began, Veronica concocted a plan to transfer to Stanford for her sophomore year. That meant she spent freshman year studying twelve hours a day, ignoring everyone on her dorm floor, and relentlessly working in the campus bookstore.

That was until she met Logan Echolls. Logan Echolls who she thumped in the forehead and called a jackass the first day she spoke to him. Logan Echolls who she would hold responsible if she ever in fact sprained her eyeballs from rolling them too often. Logan Echolls who, somehow, was now tied with Lilly Kane for the top spot as her best-friend. 

Lilly had graduated from Vassar the previous year. For some reason Lilly delighted in letting people believer her graduation was a miracle but Veronica knew she’d worked for the cum laude honors. (Lilly had also taken great pleasure in embarrassing both her younger brother and her mother by hugging them and saying, “Hear that family? I come loud” after the graduation ceremony.)

While Veronica had already heard from a handful of law schools, each phone call, email, and acceptance packet took great care to remind her that her acceptance was contingent on maintaining academic excellence. Which meant while some people relished in the debauched tradition of thirsty Thursdays, Veronica indulged in the less popular ‘transnational crime and terrorism Thursdays.’ Sometimes she celebrated the end of the week with a smoothie.

Most mornings she woke up bright eyed and anxious as she stalked the law school message boards, anticipating when she’d receive responses from each school. Acceptance letters had come from University of Wisconsin, Boston University, Arizona State, Notre Dame and Pepperdine. She’d expected the rejection letters from Harvard and Yale and was proud she’d given them little consideration over the past few days. No one got into Harvard or Yale law. The acceptances she’d received should have been enough to thrill her. Except there were two specific schools she now waited for, each with a distinct pull. Or, rather, person.

Lilly had plans to move back to New York once Veronica graduated. Unbeknownst to her parents, Lilly managed to line up a paid year long internship as a research assistant at an editorial magazine. She was pulling for Veronica to go to Columbia. Logan, on the other hand, planned to move to San Francisco and was pulling for Veronica to attend Stanford Law, which happened to be Veronica’s first choice.

(Her dad was torn. He didn’t trust Lilly, and he trusted Logan even less, but he too wanted Veronica at Stanford. Which was why she planned to keep the fact that Logan wanted them to be roommates a secret for now.)

Veronica fished her cell phone out of her messenger bag as she climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. All day sitting at her desk and in the library made her twitchy, and she enjoyed exerting the energy. She opened the stairwell door, walked onto her floor, and frowned at the missed call notification. It was from a number she didn’t recognize but they’d left a voicemail. She’d checked her phone once she got out of class so the call must have come during the twenty minute drive from campus to her building.

Veronica clicked the button to listen to her voicemail message and before the number even fully dialed realization slammed into her. The contents of her stomach churned and she felt her face heat up in anticipation. “Oh my god,” she mumbled. She continued to murmur to herself as she waited for the voicemail message to play.

“Hello Miss Mars, this is Faye Deal from Stanford Law School. Sorry to have missed you, but I wanted to offer my congratulations and welcome you to Stanford Law’s class of 2013 –“ The rest of the words of the message blurred but Veronica vaguely heard something about more information being emailed to her.

“Oh my god,” she said, hanging up her phone and breaking into a run down the hallway. She’d listen to the message again once she calmed down but there was someone she needed to call first.

“Hello?”

“Logan! Logan! I did it.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, Vee. Did what precisely?” Even as he teased, Veronica heard the note of hope in his voice. Logan didn’t have a lot of people he counted on but somehow she’d become one of them.

She stood outside the door to her condo and pulled her keys from her messenger bag. “Well, I painted my nails yesterday. That went well –“

“Veronica –“ he groaned.

She laughed as she opened the door to the condo, excited at the prospect of propping her feet up and eating celebration takeout with Lilly and Logan. At the sound of a sharp, and quite loud, female moan and an answering deep grunt, she slammed the door back shut again and pressed her forehead to the doorframe. “No freaking way.”

“Update please,” Logan demanded, a slight hint of impatience coming through.

“One second.” She opened the door again and shouted inside, keeping her squeezed eyes shut, “You better not be on the couch, Lilly Kane, so help me god.”

A confused ‘huh’ from the male inside the condo and Lilly’s distinct giggle told Veronica that was exactly where they were.

Veronica slammed the door shut again and back tracked down the hallway, shaking her head as she walked.

“Yeah, Lilly and some dude are totally doing it.”

“Are you serious?”

“Not something I’d joke about.”

“See anything interesting?”

“God, Logan, no. That’s your ex. What is wrong with you?”

“Can you really be exes if you never really went on dates? And as for my problem, I am faced with having ordered an extra large pizza but lack the ability to eat it myself.”

Veronica smiled as she took the stairs up to the fifth floor two at a time. “I might know someone who can help you with that.”

“I thought you might. I require information though.”

“What kind of information?”

“You bra size?”

She paused in her ascent of the stairs and took a deep breath. “I hate you,” she breathed out.

“Be nice. I have the pizza. Just to be clear, when you say you did it, you mean –“

“Veronica Mars, Stanford Law class of 2013?”

“Are you serious?”

“As serious as the debt I’m about to be in. I’m here,” she declared. She stood in front of the only door in the hallway that did not have a welcome mat.

It was an ongoing debate between Logan and Lilly as to which one of them found the condo building near the bay first. Veronica knew it was Logan (after all, she’d helped him find it) but always pledged her ignorance. Getting stuck in the middle of their bickering exes schtick was her least favorite way to pass the time.

“Give me one second,” he said, and then hung up the phone.

She frowned at her phone and then the door, barely resisting the urge to barge in the door without invitation.

After the promised second, Logan’s door swung open and he stood in front of her holding a stuffed lion out as an offering.

“Logan, what the –“ she trailed off as she read the lion’s t-shirt. She grabbed it from him, crushing it to her chest. Her smile felt oddly tremulous, and she looked at him from over the head of her new stuffed animal. She held it up for him to see again, straightening the ‘I love Stanford’ shirt the toy wore. “When did you even –?” She shook her head at him rather than finish the question.

“When you applied, actually,” he answered. He was doing a rather good job of not meeting her eye and an even better job at picking at a piece of imaginary lint on his jeans.

“Logan, I –“ she ducked her head so he had to meet her eye. “Thank you.” Taking a cautious step forward she wrapped her arms around Logan’s waist, pressing her cheek to his chest. The familiar scent of his cologne tickled her nose, and she resisted the urge to rub her nose into the fabric of his shirt.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice soft and oddly lower than normal. “Veronica I –“

She leaned back to look up at him and frowned. There was an expression on his face she hadn’t seen before. Sure there was the usual happiness she saw when they were together but there was a tinge of something else. It seemed to be an answer to a question she sometimes asked herself but she couldn’t deal at the moment.

“Pizza!” she shouted, her voice far too loud for their proximity to one another. “You said you had pizza.”

It took a moment for him to register the words, but then he nodded and smiled at her. “I did say that, didn’t I? Although, I suppose I could keep it all for myself.”

“Child please,” she scoffed and walked around him, inviting herself into his apartment. “The day you keep me from eating pizza. Mind if I call my dad?”

“Mind that I put mushrooms on the pizza?”

Veronica glowered at him and he laughed, practically skipping off to the kitchen to collect plates and napkins.

She stayed later than planned that night. They finished off the pizza and Lilly joined them for celebratory ice cream. She left as soon as Veronica and Logan began competing to see who could recite the most lines from _Space Balls_ from memory. They ended up watching the movie to settle the bet and then repeated the process with _The Princess Bride_.

When she woke the next morning she was surprised to find she was still at Logan’s, having fallen asleep on his couch. The stuffed lion wearing the Stanford shirt was tucked protectively under her arm and she’d draped herself over Logan, her legs tangled with his. The man in question was still asleep under her.

“Oh no,” she whispered. Future roommates could definitely not fall asleep on the couch together. But when Logan rolled on his side, and pulled her tight against his chest, she let her eyes flutter shut and squeezed back. 


	2. I Like the Way You Move

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Favorite Quote** — a ficlet inspired by the idea that Veronica is someone Logan can go to for help and, despite some resistance, that she’ll always say yes. 
> 
> **Logan:** I need your help, Veronica.  
>  **Veronica:** I don’t really do that anymore.
> 
> An AU wherein Logan and Wallace are buddies and Logan spends the day moving Wallace into his new house.
> 
> Another betaless fic. And I think the timeline makes sense, but be kind to my little heart if there are any inconsistencies.

The hallway of the new Fennel home was longer and narrower than that oftheir previous house. That became clear as Logan hit his elbow on anothercorner.

“Damn it.” He hefted the box up in his arms and maneuvered both it andhimself into the doorway of Wallace’s new room, dropping it unceremoniously onthe desk.

When he’d volunteered to help the Fennels move into their new home, he honestly thought it’d include more milk and fresh baked cookies and far less actual moving.

“If moms hears you swearing again, you’re gonna get it,” Wallace said. He pulled out a gold-plated trophy from a box on his bed and carefully set it on a shelf.

“It was barely even swearing,” Logan said. “She should hear us when we play GTA.”

“You. She can hear you. She thinks I am an angel child and we’re going to keep it that way.”

Logan had every intention of teasing Wallace about the trophy, presumably a relic from their high school days. But then he caught the name on the gold plate and saw it actually belonged to Wallace’s father. He swallowed the remark.

Hank Fennel had passed away three years prior and a love for basketball was one of the many things the two Fennel men had shared. Logan and Wallace met at the start of their junior year of high school when his family moved from Chicago to Neptune. The pain was still very real for Wallace but in the midst of that he was still the most decent guy Logan had ever met.

The two formed an unlikely friendship born out of a year-long chemistry lab partnership. They barely acknowledged one another during school hours. While at Neptune High, Logan associated with his 09er crowd and Wallace with the basketball team. Outside school, though, the Fennel home was a respite for Logan and Wallace took strange comfort that he wasn’t the only one dealing with loss and pain.

During their senior year Wallace’s mom started dating Keith Mars, the former sheriff of Balboa County. Logan only knew snippets of how they got together, but the Mars family was infamous in Neptune.

The summer before Logan’s freshman year of high school, the Kane family abruptly left Neptune and moved to the Silicon Valley. Logan had been in the throes of a tempestuous relationship with Lilly Kane and Duncan Kane had been his best-friend for years. Despite their promises to visit often, there was only so much a fifteen and sixteen year old could do.

Rumor had it the reason for the sudden move was that someone caught Jake Kane in an extramarital affair. The theory went he moved from Neptune to save face with the Kane Software board of directors. The rumors went substantiated until four months after the Kanes left Neptune. Then a series of tabloids published photos of Jake Kane and Lianne Mars, Sheriff Keith Mars’s wife, together at the Camelot. The headlines ‘Tycoon’s Tryst,’ ‘Love is in the Software,’ and ‘Mars Invasion’ were splashed across newsstands. Within thirty-six hours Keith Mars went from a very commanding 37% lead in the polls for reelection as Sheriff to trailing by 12%.

“If he can’t even keep order in his home, how is he going to keep order in Neptune,” went the frequent argument of his opponent.

After Keith lost the election Lianne Mars left town. Some said without a word to her family. Keith accepted a job working for the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department out of San Marcos. Veronica transferred to Pan High. Soon thereafter the Mars family was only ever mentioned in Neptune on the rarest of occasions.

Now, the summer after their freshman year of college, Wallace’s family was moving in with the Mars family.

“So where’s this future sister of yours?” Logan vaguely remembered Veronica from the few short months they were at Neptune High together. Mostly he remembered the idea of her.

The summer before high school began (and before the Kanes fled Neptune), Duncan had talked endlessly about a kickass soccer player who happened to be the sheriff’s daughter. The two had met at soccer camp and it was clear that Duncan was halfway to falling in love with her.

“I don’t know. She said she had some errands to run but she’ll be back before dinner.”

“You guys are close.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s she like?”

“I don’t know. She’s cool,” Wallace shrugged. He handed Logan an empty box and motioned for him to break it down. “Kind of scary.”

“See, when you say ‘cool’ I imagine James Dean. When you say ‘scary’ I imagine a hell demon.”

“That’s actually kinda accurate.”

Logan dropped the flattened cardboard box and did a circuit around Wallace’s room to the bookshelf. On the top sat a framed 5x7 photo. He recognized Wallace, Alicia, and Darrell and assumed the other two people were Keith and Veronica. The five of them were dressed up, obviously out to dinner, and Alicia held up her left hand for the camera, proudly displaying her engagement ring.

“Why wasn’t I invited?” Logan grumbled. Veronica must have been all of five foot nothing and she had the type of smile that made Logan want to smile back at the photo. “She doesn’t look scary.”

“Oh, but I am.”

He fumbled and dropped the picture frame. He stood it back up before turning around, his heart now racing at double time.

Wallace snickered and then waved Veronica into the room. “Logan, this is Veronica. Veronica, this is Logan.”

Logan managed a sheepish grin and put out a hand for Veronica to take. She countered by crossing her arms over her chest and scowling at him.

“What?” he asked, pulling his hand back and tucking it in his back pocket.

“We’ve met before.”

“No we haven’t. I’d remember.” He waggled his eyebrows at her, mostly because it was the kind of thing he did.

“I was getting on the bus for an away game freshman year. You pulled one of my pigtails and said you liked my knee socks.” The corner of her mouth tipped up in a challenging smirk.

While Logan didn’t remember the particulars of that apparent meeting, he hazarded a guess that Veronica with pig tails and in her uniform was a sight to behold.

Wallace picked up a football from his bed and smacked it into Logan’s chest. “You hit on my future sister?”

Logan prided himself on his recovery time and arched an eyebrow in response. He took the football from Wallace and tossed it up in the air. “Sounds that way.”

He threw her the ball, hoping to take her by surprise, but she barely flinched as she caught it. “You’ve been pining for me all these years, haven’t you?”

She snorted. “Hardly.” She turned her attention to Wallace and Logan felt dismissed. “I told Alicia I’d help with dinner –“

“God help us all,” Wallace muttered.

“—but she’s not back from the grocery store yet. Clearly you need help –” Veronica peered around to the other side of Wallace’s bed. There were a sizeable number of boxes still waiting to be unpacked, “—though suddenly I don’t feel like charity work.”

She backed away from them both, a strange look of triumph on her face, and threw the football in the air.

Logan stepped forward and caught the ball then tossed it back over his shoulder. “I know Wallace is on your shit list, but don’t hold that against me.”

“Better hope Alicia doesn’t hear you swear. She caught me saying ‘fuck’ last week. I barely made it out alive.”

He grinned in response. Only five minutes in the presence of this girl and he had the strangest sensation of being out to sea. It was unpleasant and uncomfortable. He wanted more. “Here’s the thing. I plan to join the fall intramural soccer team at Hearst –“

“Since when?” Wallace asked.

Logan ignored him, taking another step towards Veronica. “But I’m a bit rusty. Any chance you could give me some pointers on my right cross?”

“A right cross isn’t a thing in soccer.”

He threw his hands up in the air and beamed at her. “That just proves it. I need your help, Veronica.”

She took a step back and glared at him but remained silent, her hand propped on her hip. When he looked at Wallace for help, he merely shrugged. His look clearly communicated ‘you’re on your own.’ It took all of Logan’s willpower to not tug at the sleeves of his shirt or break eye contact. He was glad he didn’t because he saw the precise moment her expression softened towards him.

“I don’t really do that anymore,” she said. She actually sounded apologetic. Wallace’s description of her being cool and scary at the same time was starting to make more sense. She was definitely a James Dean-esque hell demon.

“Why not? Afraid of my animal magnetism?”

Veronica faked a gag and rolled her eyes. She leaned down and patted her right knee. “I had surgery on my ACL a few months ago. Running is still kind of a no-no.”

“Maybe some other time?” he asked, taking a step towards her almost involuntarily.

There was that look again. As if she was weighing and measuring him. She looked around him to where Wallace stood with his mouth slightly agape.

“Is he going to be around a lot?” she asked, jerking her chin towards Logan.

“Most likely,” Wallace answered.

Veronica sighed and turned towards the door. “God help us all,” she mumbled.

“I’m allergic to shellfish so no shrimp or crab for dinner,” Logan called after her. He looked back at Wallace, a grin on his face. “I like her.”

“I noticed.”


	3. The Law is Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Favorite series callback** – a ficlet inspired by the hilarious (and long overdue) acknowledgment that Veronica dating a deputy in the sheriff’s department when she was 17 years old was a little weird. 
> 
> **Leo:** Excuse me, Miss. Can I help you?  
>  **Veronica:** Long time, deputy.  
>  **Leo:** I’m sorry, do we know each other?  
>  **Veronica:** Leo. Stop. It’s Veronica. We used to make out. Which was a little bit sketchy because you worked at the sheriff’s department and I was still in high school.  
>  **Leo:** No, Veronica. From Neptune. 
> 
> An AU wherein Logan and Veronica are lawyers at the same firm. It’s a late night at the office and the two trade dating/relationship horror stories while sharing a bottle of Irish whiskey.

Being the last two employees at Miller and Pratt LLP on a Friday night was not a rare occurrence for Veronica Mars and Logan Echolls. There was a reason Mars and Echolls were the frontrunners for a rumored senior associate position opening at the end of the month.Both had been with the firm for three years and were whip smart. They each wielded that wit as if it were a weapon and thrived off proving people wrong.

From where she stood in the break room, Veronica had a clear view into Logan’s office and she frowned at the sight. He cradled his head in his hands and sat motionless staring at something on his desk.

It wasn’t his usual work posture.

When Logan was on the verge of (self-proclaimed) legal brilliance, he was about sweeping hand motions and frantic movement. Veronica was the one prone to staring out her window while mulling over a deposition. At times it felt like there were charts and graphs suspended in the air only she could see.

She finished stirring the cream and sugar into her coffee. Rather than head back to her office, she headed for Logan’s. “Guess who just logged her ninth billable hour of the day? Suck on that, Echolls.”

He huffed out a breath and looked up at her for a brief second before resuming his staring contest with his phone. “Congratulations, Mars. You are the envy of junior associates with no social lives everywhere.”

It was the listless tone, and not the remark itself, that surprised her. Hardly a work day went by where they didn’t take at least a few potshots at one another. But he usually looked her in the eye when he lobbed them. They had a shared love for catching the exact moment one of their snarky comments hit its target.  

Veronica narrowed her eyes and took in the rather pathetic picture Logan made: his shoulders slumped, his tie haphazardly loosened, and his hair mussed. If not for the way he continued to stare at his phone, she might have believed his distress was the result of a case. She raised up on her toes to peek over the stacks of files on the desk.

Then she noticed the picture frame.

The picture that usually stood beside his monitor was now turned flat on its face. People everywhere knew a downturned photo didn’t mean anything good. She also happened to know that frame held a photo of Logan and his longtime girlfriend. _Wuh oh._

Veronica backed out of the office without another word, dumping her coffee in the break room sink as she passed. A night like this called for something stronger. She returned to Logan’s office, this time holding a bottle of malt Irish whiskey and two glasses.

From her perspective, Miller and Pratt was a war zone most days. Despite what other lawyers at the firm thought of their antagonistic relationship, she and Logan were comrades in arms.

She poured them each a drink and sat down, leaving the bottle uncapped and on his desk.

“Don’t want to talk about it,” he said, reaching for the glass.

“Good,” she snapped back, “because I don’t want to hear it. Drink.” She kicked off her shoes and curled her feet up under her, staring out the window of Logan’s office. He’d talk eventually. The guy was a chatter.

“God, I wish I could hate her.”

Veronica nodded and took another sip of her whiskey.

“We’ve been doing this on-again off-again thing since we were in college. I’ve been working fourteen hour days so I can justify taking two days off to visit her next week. She called tonight and said it wasn’t going to work. No real reason. She just couldn’t make the time.”

“So she’s a bitch?” Veronica asked. She wasn’t judging as much as she was curious.

“Queen bitch. But she’s also the best-friend I’ve ever had.” He shrugged and reached for the bottle of whiskey, refilling his glass.

“She ended it then?”

“No, I did. We – I don’t think either one of us knew what we were doing anymore.” Logan leaned back in his chair, slumping far down into the leather. It looked like he might slide off the chair and onto the floor. “God I sound pathetic. The unsinkable Veronica Mars probably has no idea what I’m talking about.” Logan used his feet to spin his chair around so he too was facing the window.

She rolled her eyes at his sulky behavior and considered leaving him alone with the bottle of whiskey. Through the faint reflection in the window, Veronica saw his maudlin stare locked on the glass he held in his hands. She took a deep breath.

“My first boyfriend and I dated for over a year. We were catalog couple perfection. But then one day he wouldn’t even look me in the eye. After a week of that I finally took the hint and stopped trying to talk to him.”  Logan didn’t respond, but he sat up a bit taller in his chair and his eyes met hers in the reflection. “Turns out my mom and his dad were having an affair. Had been for years. His mom told him we were siblings.”

That got the expected reaction. Logan spun his chair back around to face her. His eyes were blown wide, and he looked faintly amused. As if the story was too ridiculous to entertain. Veronica gulped down the last bit of whiskey in her glass and filled her glass again.

“So were you?” Logan eventually asked.

“Nope. After that was Troy who got his dad’s car stolen while on a bender in Mexico. While I was trying to prevent him from getting shipped off to boarding school, he was busy making plans to leave town with his other girlfriend and a bag of drugs.”

“Holy fuck.”

“After that was Deputy Leo. He was kind of sweet. I watched his band play, and we used to make out. But the whole deal was a little bit sketchy because he worked at the sheriff’s department and I was still in high school.”

“You minx,” Logan laughed. He was almost sitting completely upright now and had scooted his desk chair to be closer to her.

“Why thank you. After that I dated my first boyfriend again.”

Logan arched an eyebrow in response and Veronica nodded, shamefaced. Her friend Wallace hadn’t liked it at the time either.

“I know. This time we officially ended things when I found out he got his ex-girlfriend pregnant. The two of them, financed by his very wealthy parents, hightailed it to Europe where I’m sure the little one is now enjoying the finest private schools in Switzerland.”

“Jesus,” Logan murmured.

“College brought me a sweet sweet boy from Oregon. He was – the _one_ in the, you know,” Veronica circled her hand in the air, inviting him to fill in the blanks for her. Lawyers were the worst kinds of gossips and she figured the rumors of her not-quite-sex-tape had made the circuit. “Anyway, I followed his lead and ignored the taunts freshman year, but when it got worse sophomore year and I went all justice demon on him, we broke up.”

“Too intense?”

She nodded. “I think I scared him a little.”

“I can see why.”

“Later in college there –“

Logan put a hand up to silence her and nodded his head in defeat. “Okay, I got it.”

“No you don’t.” Veronica leaned forward and placed her empty glass on the desk. “My dad thought my mom was the love of his life. He was wrong. The woman he’s married to now is.”

“Is this supposed to be inspirational? Because I have a whole Pinterest board filled with inspirational quotes. This sucks by comparison.”

“It’s me being honest.” Having said her piece, she scooted her chair back from the desk.

Logan poured them each another shot of whiskey. He threw his back in a single gulp and looked at her expectantly, inviting Veronica to do the same. She took a deep breath, raised the glass to him in acknowledgment, and took the shot.

“You’re a romantic, Veronica Mars. I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“No I’m not.”

“Hey, that was a compliment. No need to get offended.”

She shrugged it off, concentrating instead on balancing the empty glass on her palm. It felt heavy. “What about you?”

“What about me what?” Logan asked.

“You have any romantic notions left?”

Logan held her gaze without blinking for a few seconds then a warm, easy grin lit up his face. “Maybe one or two.”

“That’s good.” Veronica stood up. She’d probably overstayed her welcome in Logan’s office and she had more work to do. But the rush of liquor coupled with skipping dinner had her sitting back down again. She pressed a hand to her head and felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment. “Wuh oh.”

“Alright there lightweight?”

“I just need a second.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself,” Logan said. She watched him scoot his chair back from the desk. He took his tie off, draped it over the back of his chair and held a hand out to Veronica.  “We’ll soak up that whiskey with some Thai food.”

She leaned over to pick up her shoes from under the chair and accepted his outstretched hand.

“Are we friends now?” Veronica asked.

“Well, you did bring a bottle of the good whiskey.”

She pressed her lips together to hide her smile as they walked. “I billed it to a client.”

“No you didn’t.”

“You’re right. I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

“If anyone asks I promise to tell them you’re a cold-hearted bitch.”

“I promise to tell people you’re an asshole even if they don’t ask.”

Logan shook his head and hit the down arrow for the elevator. “If you keep saying sweet things like that, I’m going to fall in love with you.”

“Well that would be a disaster.” When the elevator doors opened, Veronica shoved Logan inside. “And you’re buying dinner, friend, because I left my purse in my office.”


	4. I Want to Hold Your Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Favorite using of scoring or song** — a ficlet inspired by the ‘long way home’ ride – where Sufjan Stevens played, pretty lights danced across their skin, and Veronica looked happy. 
> 
> _I fell in love again_  
>  All things go, all things go  
>  Drove to Chicago  
>  All things know, all things know  
>  We sold our clothes to the state  
>  I don’t mind, I don’t mind  
>  I made a lot of mistakes  
>  In my mind, in my mind
> 
> An AU wherein Logan and Veronica grew up as next door neighbors, Logan turns sixteen, and the two take a drive along the PCH.

Sunlight streaming through her bedroom window, coupled with the ring of her phone, woke Veronica up from a contented slumber. She rolled over and frowned at the phone on the nightstand, unwilling to untuck the covers from around her body and turn it off. Instead she simply hoped for it to stop.

It was a rare Saturday where she had no plans and she wanted to enjoy the bliss of her duvet cocoon for at least an hour longer. Her dad’s schedule at the sheriff’s station rotated in such a way that he had to work one weekend a month. Her mom left the night before for a girls’ weekend on Catalina Island. Normally under such parentless circumstances she’d be spending all weekend with Logan, but he’d been oddly evasive about his weekend plans. He was up to something (per usual) and she’d find out eventually. In the mean time – bliss.

She rolled onto her side, tossing the blankets over her head. Her stomach grumbled but she ignored it; perfectly content to remain in her burrow for a bit longer. When her phone rang again, Veronica groaned and snaked an arm out from the covers, blindly reaching for it.

“Hello?”

“Are you still in bed?”

“What do you want, Logan?”

“You have twenty minutes to get ready and meet me outside your house.”

“Why?”

“Can’t you for once just do what I say without asking any questions?”

“Yeah, that doesn’t really work for me.”

“Twenty minutes.”

Veronica mulled it over. Logan phrased it as a command but he had to know she’d hear it as a suggestion. A suggestion to which she’d add her own thoughts and thereby improve. It was the Mars Family way.

She sighed, rolling her eyes at herself. It was too early for her to put up an adequate fuss. “Make it thirty.”

“Okay princess.”

“I’m going to murder you.”

“And leave your dad to do all that paperwork? I’ll see you in thirty.”

They’d been friends and next door neighbors since their toddler years. When Logan and his mom moved into the house across the street, Veronica’s mom was the first to welcome them to the neighborhood.

His family history was something she knew about but they never discussed. Two days after he was born, Logan’s dad left a stack of divorce papers for his mom to find. He had put a new spin on an old deadbeat cliche when he left one day for an action movie audition and never came home. Logan took his mom’s maiden name, Lester, and Veronica was one of only four people who knew his birth dad’s last name was Echolls.

When they were six, Veronica worried that Logan didn’t have a dad to go to work with on Take Your Child to Work Day. She offered to write Hollywood a letter and make his dad come back. Logan had held her hand on the playground and begged her not to.

* * *

_“My mom says he was a bad guy.”_

_“What’s his name?”_

_Logan shrugged, bringing his shoulders almost up to his ears. “Don’t know.”_

_“My dad puts bad guys in jail.”_

_“Not that kind of bad guy, stupid.”_

_“Well, then, you’ll come with me and my dad, stupid._ ”

* * *

After that, she’d squeezed his hand so tight it somehow devolved into a wrestling match between the two of them. She won when she sat on his chest and pinned his shoulders to the ground. At the sheriff’s station the next day, Veronica’s dad had presented them each with an honorary deputy’s badge. She’d never seen Logan smile so big.

Thirty minutes provided Veronica with enough time to shower quickly, braid her hair, and make a cup of coffee for herself and Logan. Logan liked to pretend he was tough enough to drink his coffee black. It was a special occasion, though, and she suspected he’d appreciate the cream and vanilla syrup she added. She placed a lid on each cup, grabbed the present she’d wrapped the night before, and was out the front door just as her text message alert tone chimed.

She’d expected to find Logan on her front porch or leaning against the hood of her Le Baron. Instead she found him in the driveway, sitting in the driver’s seat of a forest green SUV. He waved to her and held a paper wrapped something out the window.

She grinned when she recognized the wrapper. “Mustard grilled?”

“You doubt me?”

Veronica shook herself out of her stupor, balanced the two coffee cups in one arm, and tucked the gift under the other as she locked the door. By the time she turned back around, Logan was out of the car and at the passenger side, opening the door for her.

“Thank you,” she said, moving around him.

“No animal fries, though. Can’t mess the lush vinyl interior.” He went to take the two cups of coffee from her, but she shook her head. She wiggled the arm with the package under it.

“Take that. It’s for you anyway.”

“What is it?”

“A birthday gift, you idiot.”

“You speak like this to someone who brought you food?”

She rolled her eyes. “But no fries.” Since she didn’t have her hands completely free she lightly kicked him in the shins. “What if I had plans today?”

“You would have cancelled them because I am charming and mysterious.”

“Yeah. Okay,” she said as she stepped up into the car. Logan shut the door behind her. She settled their coffees in the console cup holders and started in on the burger waiting for her.

As soon as he got into the vehicle he carefully set his present in the backseat. Veronica hid her grin as she took another bite. It was the same thing every year. He liked to stretch out his birthday so it lasted all day.

“When did this happen?” she asked, waving her hand at him as he pulled out of the driveway.

“My mom took me first thing this morning.”

“You could have told me.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” He rubbed the dashboard affectionately. “A hundred-thousand miles and a certified gas guzzler. It’s the stuff my prepubescent dreams are made of.”

“It has a tape deck.”

“And power windows.” To demonstrate that fact, Logan rolled all four windows down. “Where to?”

“Birthday boy’s choice.”

Within minutes Logan had steered the car onto the PCH. The ocean smell came in strong through the open windows and Veronica took a deep breath. She smiled in contentment, curling her feet up under her. She put her arm out the window, scissoring her hand through the air, enjoying the play of the wind against her skin.

The SUV did in fact boast a tape deck but it also had a CD player. As they drove she recognized the CD they were listening to as one she’d made Logan the month prior. One song ended and as the tinkling notes of the next one began, she instinctively leaned forward to turn it up. In almost the same breath, Logan smacked her hand away.

“Logan!”

“My car.”

“You’re a tyrant.”

“And how many times have you done the same to me?” He affected the high pitched nasally tone he used to mimic her. “‘My car, my rules.’ Sound familiar?”

“But I’m a princess.”

“You’re a something alright,” he grumbled, but didn’t protest as she turned up the song. She hummed in satisfaction. She loved getting her way but she loved even more the way the song filled the space of the SUV and perfectly mingled with the sounds of the ocean.

The moment the song ended Logan hit the back arrow and started it over.

“Is that a xylophone?” she asked.

“Vibraphone.”

A warm deep affection for her friend, ever present to some degree, bloomed a little brighter. “How do you know this stuff?”

He shrugged.

Veronica hit the back button again, wanting to hear the vibraphone play. As the lyrics began, she hummed along, singing out snippets as a particular line struck her. “Good song.” With the warmth of the coffee in her belly, the hamburger breakfast, and the sun warming her skin, she was seconds away from nodding off. She closed her eyes and snuggled down into the seat.

“Have you ever been in love?” Logan asked.

She opened her eyes and shot Logan an incredulous stare. He was darting glances at her from his periphery and she wondered how long he’d been watching her.

“Be serious.”

“I am.”

She glared at him with a small shake of her head.

“Not even Casey?”

“We dated for like a second. Also, I’m sixteen.”

“So, no?”

“No, I haven’t. Don’t you think you would have noticed a strange man lurking around?” She turned away from him to stare out at the water again. “But I’d like to. It sounds nice. Scary, but nice.”

It took him so long to reply she thought her answer got swallowed up the music and the wind. Maybe that he didn’t actually hear her. But then she hazarded a glance at him. He met her eyes for a moment before his flitted back to the road.

A sudden pressure she didn’t have an explanation for formed in her chest and she smiled at his profile. She found herself leaning a little closer to the center console.

“It does sound nice,” he said. “Will you – will you tell me when it happens?”

She furrowed her brow at his question, puzzled by his solemn tone. “I promise, Logan. Will you tell me?”

His answer was immediate and earnest. “You’ll be the first to know.”

“Good,” she replied. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, princess.”

She groaned at his repeated use of the nickname and shoved his shoulder. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he laughed.

He didn’t drop her off at home until close to ten that night. Veronica’s cheeks and the tip of her nose were slightly sunburned. They’d spent most of the day on the beach. There was still sand in between her toes and only half of her hair remained up in a braid.

Logan turned off the car and leaned back in the seat. “Pretty good birthday.”

“You’re sure you didn’t want a party?”

She’d already asked him that at several points throughout the day and he shook his head again. “Nope. This was better.”

She looked over her shoulder into the back seat and reached for the present that still sat there. “The time has come, my friend. Open.” As soon as he tore off one corner of paper she felt the need to explain. “This is only part of it. Dad wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow and then you can have the next part.”

Logan took the lid off the gift box and shook his head in disbelief at what sat there. He threw the wrapping paper over his shoulder and into the backseat.

“The good old days,” she said, knocking the glass of the photo, “when I was still taller than you.”

“I still have my badge from that day.”

“Me too.” She unbuckled her seat belt and opened the car door to hop out. Veronica rarely acted on impulse but it had been an almost perfect twelve hours. As if the whole day had been blessed so even the most ordinary moments had glimmered with a sort of magic. Before she could overthink it, she pressed her lips to Logan’s cheek and then jumped out of the car.

“What’d you do that for?” he asked. Despite his obvious surprise, the corner of his mouth quirked in a grin.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I wanted to.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” She shut the door and waved to Logan from the porch as she let herself into the house. The pressure she’d felt before in the car was back, this time coupled with a quickening of her pulse.

“Hey sweetie.” Her dad’s voice called from the living room. “What’s the verdict? Is Logan a good driver?”

“Yeah,” she smiled to herself, pressing a hand to her chest. She could feel the erratic beat of her heart. “He’s the best.”


	5. Come Rain or Come Shine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Favorite underrated moment** – inspired by the way that neither Logan nor Veronica dwelled on the nine years of radio silence and this specific exchange: 
> 
> **Logan:** Nine years of radio silence, and, yet, I still kind of knew, deep down, I could count on you.  
>  **Veronica:** About those nine years…  
>  **Logan:** Bygones.
> 
> An AU wherein Veronica’s best-friend and Logan’s best-friend are getting married and the two meet for the first time at the wedding.

The type of event being held in the ballroom of the Neptune Grande is not extraordinary in nature. At a venue that on average hosts more than ninety weddings per year, it’s not unusual to find a few hundred individuals dressed in their finest on a Saturday evening. The fact that the newlyweds are software heiress Lilly Kane and indie pop icon Carrie Bishop, however, make it the lead story for magazine covers and talk shows across the country.

Veronica sits at her assigned table near the front of the ballroom. As she swirls her pre-dinner glass of red wine, she chances a glance at the couple sitting at the head table. Each of the brides opted to wear a white dress and they look the type of glamorous Veronica only dreams of being. Lilly’s dress is as tight as a second skin and floor length whereas Carrie’s dress cuts off at the knees and flares out in layers of alternating pink and white tulle. Their smiles, broad enough to alight their entire faces, are clear indicators of shared joy and contentment.

There was a time Veronica feared Lilly would never find contentment. Lilly was a voracious consumer of experiences and a hedonist in training from an early age. She went through her days wanting more but never knowing where it would lead. In high school it was exciting, but as they grew up Veronica started to fear for her friend.

Lilly’s relationship with Carrie initially seemed to be part of that cycle, but the almost immediate depth of their connection surprised everyone. Including Lilly. Something about both women knowing what it was like to fall short of parental expectations. About trying to do the right thing but it rarely turning out the way one hoped. About loving people fiercely but sometimes hurting them just as fiercely.  

It’s years later and now Veronica gets to watch as Carrie leans to whisper something in Lilly’s ear. It’s their _wedding day_. Both women grin and there’s a familiar unholy gleam in Lilly’s eye. She turns her head to make eye contact with her mom and boosts up her cleavage, fussing with the sweetheart neckline of her dress in a calculated manner. The newlyweds are partners in everything; have been for a while, in fact, but today has made that official. Carrie presses her lips together, hiding a grin at their shared love of torturing Celeste, and turns away as she takes a sip of sparkling cider.

“So are you a friend of the bride?”

The voice originates from over her shoulder and Veronica rolls her eyes. She already hates the person without even knowing what he looks like. If he’s wearing a scarf indoors, she may spill her wine on his shoes.

“Or,” the voice continues, “are you a friend of the bride?”

She sighs. “Congratulations on making the world’s most obvious joke. Drunk frat boys everywhere applaud your wit.” She takes another sip of her wine, stalwartly refusing to look at the guy in question.

“I heard you can be prickly. Do you mind –“

“Not interested, buddy. Move along.”

“Okay, well –“

Veronica grits her teeth and turns her head to look up at the man standing before her. _Woah._ He’s taller than she expected and wearing a rather a well cut tuxedo. She tilts her head back and frowns. There’s an air of familiarity there but she doesn’t believe they’ve ever met.

“Well nothing,” she says. “I’m sure there’s a girl with low self-esteem somewhere who will find your particular breed of asshole charming.” Perhaps it’s a bit harsh, but it’s been a long week and her tolerance for humor of the _‘two chicks? dude!_ ’ variety is non-existent.

The man clenches his jaw and she can almost hear him counting to ten as he takes a series of deep breaths. She gets that reaction a lot.

“Seeing as that’s my name there,” he points to the place setting beside her, “and this is where I’ve been told to sit, I think I’ll stay. That okay with you?”

There’s a quick jab of remorse because it should be great fun sitting next to Douchey McStupid-Joke. Especially now. She hadn’t even looked at the seating chart so turns to read the placecard he references.The instant she does remorse morphs into a crushing swell of embarrassment. It’s actually a black hole of embarrassment. Point of origin: beneath Veronica’s chair.

_Logan Echolls. Fuck._

She’s never met him but she does in fact know him.

She glances down at her hands. The regret must be evident on her face because his shoulders relax, and he looks faintly amused. Like he knows she’s stepped in it and he’s going to thoroughly enjoy watching her backtrack. It’s a deserved reaction.

“You’re Carrie’s Logan?” she asks.

He nods and _fuuuuck_. She was hoping to be wrong.

“Lilly’s Veronica?”

“That’s me.” Her voice is weak and tremulous and she avoids saying anything else in favor of gulping the last of her wine.

The only blessing in this is that they are the only two currently at the table. No one else to witness this moment of humiliation. The moment where she was a jerk _(a well-meaning jerk coming to the defense of her best-friend!)_ to the person without which this whole event may not have happened.

Someone at the head table, she thinks Carrie’s older sister, clinks a fork to a glass and gets the room’s attention. Carrie and Lilly stand holding hands. They thank everyone for attending and announce dinner will be served shortly. Lilly catches Veronica’s eye and nudges Carrie. Their eyes drift to Logan almost in unison and both women wave enthusiastically at their table. Veronica waves back with just as much enthusiasm. She’d seen them right before the start of the ceremony but it feels like it’s been hours.

As the guests find their seats and the servers come out in perfectly choreographed waves, Veronica thanks the gods for bowls of French onion soup. It’s a well-known fact she loves food but right now she’s mostly thankful for the distraction of activity.  

Veronica spends both the first and second courses studiously ignoring Logan. She chats up Carrie’s personal assistant and her boyfriend who are sitting at the same table. The two are from the Midwest and occasionally look up at the ceiling of the Grande’s ballroom like it’s as glorious as the Sistine Chapel.

The servers flit around, collecting the plates from the second course and then refill wine glasses. Veronica’s a little proud of the steadfast manner in which she’s ignored Logan. She’s also a tad ashamed of herself.

Before the wedding even started, she knew she wanted to introduce herself to Logan and thank him for everything he’s done for Lilly and Carrie. To thank him for being there for Lilly when Veronica was in another country and physically unable to be. For sending Veronica an email when Carrie checked into rehab. For being the one who supported Veronica in her assertion that guys like Sean Friedrich were leeches who needed to be cut from Carrie’s and Lilly’s lives.

Veronica always felt she and Logan were a team. Together in a weird way as they separately worked for the happiness of their friends.

She sighs and takes another sip of wine. Two courses down, three to go. Then it’s only another two hours of cocktails and dancing. She doesn’t notice Logan lean closer to whisper to her until his breath puffs out against her skin.

“Would you rather wear a dress made entirely of razor blades or sit next to Celeste at the head table?”

Her eyes flit to his for a second just to ensure that, yes, he is in fact speaking to her. When eye contact is met with a quirk of his lips and a jerk of his head, she looks at the person in question.

The members of the head table are having a genuinely good time. On Carrie’s side is her mom, older sister and brother-in-law. Carrie’s dad is noticeably absent but the motto of the whole past week has been _fuck him_. Veronica even made t-shirts. On Lilly’s side sits her mom and dad as well as her brother Duncan and his daughter-of-a-senator wife. Celeste is the only one who appears determined to not enjoy herself. Her features are pinched and Veronica knows that deep deep down she must be happy for Lilly on her day. Those more joyful feelings simply happen to be buried beneath feet of bullshit and pretense.

“She is looking particularly constipated today,” she whispers back. Logan snorts a laugh and she’s almost proud of herself for prompting such a reaction. “How long would I have to sit next to her?”

“The entire time.”

Veronica scrunches up her nose and tilts her head to the side, giving the question an appropriate amount of consideration. “Razor blades. Razor blades for days.”

“I knew you were a sensible woman. Why aren’t you at the head table by the way?”

“Why aren’t you?”

“I asked you first.”

“Seriously are you twelve?”

“I was a fantastic twelve-year old.”

“I’ve seen pictures. Glad you grew into those ears.”

And like that, the tension is broken. In the exact way the first clap of thunder announces a storm, Logan’s stupid question paves the way for the next hour of jokes, jabs, and easy camaraderie. In part it’s born out of their mutual care for Lilly and Carrie, but as they finish dinner Veronica concludes she genuinely likes the guy.

It’s over cups of ice cream (Veronica’s thrilled because _there’s also going to be cake!_ ) that they discuss their respective jobs. Or, intend to. 

“Carrie mentioned you were a writer,” she says.

“Yeah. I think it was the year after we graduated from college. She tossed a notebook at me one day and said, ‘write it down rich boy, and stop torturing me.’ I took her advice and haven’t stopped.” He licks the ice cream off his spoon and then pushes his bowl away. “And you, don’t tell me, have made a career of stomping on the bones of your enemies?”

She laughs, interpreting his words as an odd but strangely flattering compliment. “Well, I –“ she doesn’t trail off as much as she abandons the thought completely in favor of losing her mind. “Shit,” she swears under her breath. “Shit, fuck, shit.”

“What a coincidence. I too have worked at shit-fuck-shit.”

This is not an amusing situation, but she can’t help but laugh. Her assumption was that by some unspoken agreement she and Duncan would celebrate Lilly’s day separately, and not speak to one another. Kind of a ‘the beloved brother of my best-friend is not my enemy but I can pretend he doesn’t exist’ thing.

“Duncan Kane has our table in his sights,” she mumbles.

“Ah, that’s right,” Logan says. He leans back in his chair and crosses his ankle over his knee; all casual like because _he_ has no reason to be uncomfortable at the prospect of the impending conversation. “I forgot you used to diddle the donut.”

“God, Logan. Pick a grosser word.” She keeps her sights on her ice cream, mushing the remaining bites with her spoon, but eyes Duncan from her periphery. He and his wife are weaving through the couples who have started to dance, stopping every few feet to greet someone and offer perfunctory kisses.

“What phrase would you prefer? Bisecting the triangle? Making whoopee? Doing the frickle-frackle?”

Her shoulders start to shake with laughter because are these things people have ever actually said? And seriously, Duncan is about one-hundred feet from their table. “Frickle-frackle isn’t a thing.”

“We could make it one.”

Her head whips up so fast she thinks she hears something snap and levels Logan with a glare. If the way he wiggles his eyebrows is to be believed, he intended for it to come out that way. “Not you and I together. You and I separately. With other people. What were _you_ thinking? Hmmm?” He scoots his chair closer and rests his arm around the back of hers so his fingertips graze her shoulder.

She frowns. She’s not upset as much as simply good and confused. “What are you doing?”

“You don’t want the ex to think you’re sad and alone. Just play along.”

She shakes her head, incredulous that he’s actually suggesting such a thing. “We just met two hours ago.”

“He doesn’t know that. Our best-friends are getting married. It stands to reason we’d know each other.”

He’s talking with words that are technically in the English language but this whole idea does not make logical sense. Because _pretend dating_. That’s not a thing, right? “He’ll be able to tell.”

He leans in and whispers, his breath warm against her ear. “Honestly, Veronica. I’ve met Duncan a few times, and he’s about as insightful as a paperclip.”

She finds herself hiding her smile in the crook between Logan’s neck and shoulder. His whole body tenses for a second but in the next she feels him relax. The fingertips that were barely touching her shoulder now move up and down her arm in a gentle caress. She enjoys the sensation way more than she thinks she should.

“See, Mars. I knew you’d get the hang of it.” His voice is warm and wraps around her last name like a blanket. It’s almost intimate, the way he says it. Like they are dear friends with years of history stretched between them as opposed to people who just met.

“Duncan, hey!” And then he’s all charismatic carnival barker with a hint of used car salesman.

It’s her cue to look up. There’s Duncan and his wife of two years, Maggie. It makes the whole interaction both better and worse that Maggie is such a charming person. Even Lilly has come to know and appreciate her as a friend.

The memory of it feels far away at times, but for most of high school and college Veronica thought she was Duncan’s person. Until one day she wasn’t and Duncan was barely able to look at her. It was as if he hoped she’d figure it out and they could simply forget they dated for five years.

Over the years they’ve made polite small talk for Lilly’s sake. Veronica still hasn’t told anyone she didn’t really know they’d broken up until Duncan showed up to her apartment with a box of her stuff. It’s been six years, and it doesn’t exactly hurt but sometimes it stings.

“It’s really good to see you, Maggie.” It is good to see this woman who has been such a staunch supporter of both Lilly and Carrie. “Duncan,” Veronica nods. She prefers to stick to factual observations in their interactions. His name is Duncan and he’s standing in front of her.

“Veronica, that dress is beautiful.” Maggie beams at her, and Veronica’s returning smile might be small, but it is genuine. “I love the red.”

“I thought it was a little much, but Lilly insisted.”

“It’s perfect, my darling.” Logan kisses her temple, a smack of his lips against her skin. She looks up at him, eyes wide. It feels like an oversell. _My darling?_

“When did this happen?” Duncan asks, gesturing between them.

Veronica and Logan’s eyes lock. She keeps her mouth shut and nods to him. They don’t need to do that thing where they each burst forth with a contradictory reply. This might be a stupid ass idea but she will not be caught.

“About six months,” he answers. _Perfect._

And now, armed with that fact, she can lie her ass of. “Remember how Lilly came to San Francisco for her final dress fitting? Well, Logan –“

“—I insisted I tag along to meet the one and only Veronica Mars.” He picks up the story with almost no effort and she wonders if being a writer makes him a natural con artist. “She was so beautiful that when we actually met all I could say was ‘hello.’”

_Okay buddy._ Maggie’s eyes narrow in suspicion even as she smiles. She’s smart enough to know they are, at the very least, leaving out details. But Duncan has the same stare he often wears and nods along like it makes perfect sense.

The music in the ballroom changes and Veronica hears the starting notes of an old Frank Sinatra tune. Logan’s hand immediately drops from her shoulder and he pulls her up and out of her chair before she has time to process much of anything.

“I’m sorry Dunc. Maggie it is so lovely to see you again, but they’re playing our song and it must be danced to.”

Veronica manages to toss a farewell wave over her shoulder and then they are on the dance floor, Logan’s hands on her waist and her arms wrapped around his neck.

“Did you really quote _An Affair to Remember_?” she asks. “MGM could sue you for copyright infringement.”

“Twentieth Century Fox, and it’d never go to court.”  
  
She smiles up at him in gratitude and takes a deep breath. As the song goes on she finds she quite likes swaying to the music with Logan. Enjoys even more the way he spins her around and then pulls her close like this isn’t the first time they’ve danced.

As the music continues, Logan occasionally sings some of the words from under his breath. Her cheeks flush in shame when she remembers she hasn’t actually apologized for the way they met.

She clears her throat. At the sound, his eyes (which she is fairly certain were focused on her lips) drift up to meet hers. Her heart’s pounding, and she doesn’t have an explanation for why except that she loathes apologizing.

“Yes?”

“About that first impression I made earlier in the night –“

“Bygones.” There’s no hesitation. No saying _stop_ when he really means _go on and tell me_ how _sorry you are_. He spins her out one more time and brings her back in. Her right hand lands so it’s directly above his heart and she leans into him. “Besides, that wasn’t my first impression of you.”

“Excuse me?”

“When I was in college, I went with Carrie to visit Lilly at Vassar. In her apartment she had this picture of the two of you from when you guys were in middle school. Lilly caught me looking at it and said ‘that’s Veronica Mars; she’s the best person I know.’ That was my first impression of you.”

She crushes the fabric of his button down in her fist, for some reason wanting to bring him closer. “She said that?”

He nods.

“And you remembered?”

He nods again. And this time she is definitely not imagining it when he looks at her lips.

The sound of brass and horns along with the lyrics _‘in other words / I love you’_ blare through the speakers of the ballroom. There’s a moment of stillness as the song fades out and another starts to play. Veronica wants to press even closer to him and sway along to the pleasant melody but instead she takes a step back. At the same time, he drops his hands from her waist.

She reaches out a hand to flatten a wrinkle in his shirt. A crease she put there. She doesn’t understand where the impulse comes from, but she doesn’t analyze it.

“They’re going to cut the cake soon,” he says.

“We could dance one more?” It’s hesitant and unsure which are two words that rarely describe her. “If you wanted to.”

And he must hear the uncertainty, because before she has time to regret phrasing it as a question, he pulls her closer. “Good idea,” he murmurs. “Duncan could still be watching.”

It’s about when she hears Ray Charles sing _‘you’re gonna love me like nobody’s loved me’_ that she peers over Logan’s shoulder. Lilly and Carrie are dancing only feet away.

She catches Lilly’s eye and her best-friend licks her top lip and winks like she can tell from how much Veronica’s enjoying herself. How much her pulse is racing and the way little butterflies have started to take flight as she and Logan dance. Veronica wouldn’t put it past Lilly to read how much she’s enjoying the scent of Logan’s cologne. Or the strength of his hands as he guides her around the dance floor.

She wonders if Lilly _planned this_ and narrows her eyes at her friend. And maybe Lilly did because her dear friend whispers something in Carrie’s ear and suddenly Carrie is watching Logan and Veronica dance now.

They definitely planned this. Together. Veronica rolls her eyes but relaxes into the hold Logan has on her. When he pulls her closer still, she presses her cheek to his chest and smiles.    


	6. What Light is Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Favorite moment of character growth or development** \- Inspired by the beautiful interaction of _“So, are you gonna ask if I did it?” / “I wouldn’t be here if I thought you did.”_
> 
> Because Logan is straightforward and honest, asking for what he needs. And Veronica is straightforward and honest and communicates her faith in him.
> 
> An AU wherein Veronica and Logan meet in college during callbacks for the fall production.

* * *

She looks at the call board and smiles. It’s not New York or Chicago. But it’s something and it’s hers.

* * *

It’s not that high school was a nightmare. No one died. Her parents managed to stay together and even look happy most days (though Veronica suspects she’s the tie that still binds them). She lived in a great house, had a few good friends, and good memories.

It’s more that high school was –

Well, high school was all about her best-friend and her (ex) boyfriend.  For all their faults the Kane siblings knew her, loved her, and liked having her around – Lilly more so than Duncan even.

It was the rest of the school she couldn’t stand. Her classmates at Neptune High only ever saw a hanger on. Someone desperate for attention and accolades – someone secretly manipulative and calculating. A person who clung onto the Kanes’ popularity and wealth by her unmanicured fingernails.

She spent three years biting her tongue each time Madison Sinclair doled out birthday invitations like she was a royal. And clenching her fists when 09ers checked other kids into lockers. And relying on her sheriff’s daughter moniker as the reason she gave rides home to drunk girls at parties. For three years she was careful. She saw exactly what happened when people stepped out of the sheepfold. And Lilly’s friendship was worth it.

But then Lilly graduated and moved to New York for college. Two weeks into senior year Duncan (kind of) broke up with her and started dating Meg Manning quickly thereafter.

As much as she hated the whispers and missed the Kane siblings, it felt like being set free.

Her university’s fall production of _The Two Gentlemen of Verona_ is part of her commitment a fresh start. She wants to experience something new. Something in her former life she wasn’t brave enough to try.

There are two callback sheets on the bulletin board and she approaches with zero hesitation. When she sees her name typed with precision, ‘Veronica Mars,’ black type against the white page, she smiles. It’s something and it’s hers. Separate from the Kanes. Separate from her life in Neptune. 

“Did you get a callback?”

She keeps her eyes affixed to the signup sheet, a little miffed she can’t continue to stare at her name in silent triumph. She nods. “For Silvia.”

“Funny that. I got a callback for Proteus. If we get cast we’ll probably have to make out.”

She had a feeling this would happen. That she’d encounter at least one frat boy disguised as a theatre nerd. “Proteus is a dick.”

“He still gets the girl.”

“Not Silvia. And dicks throughout history have gotten the girl. Not a point in Proteus’ favor.”

She hikes her messenger bag up on her shoulder and prepares to walk away but first steals a glance at the person she’s snarking with.

He’s tall – significantly taller than she is, but that isn’t really an achievement. His hair is doing that artfully mussed thing; where he wants the world to think he just rolled out of bed but really spent thirty minutes styling each hair right. From her periphery she sees him arch a brow at her perusal. She spares a second to internally applaud his fantastic eyebrow control but then narrows her eyes and walks away.

He calls after her. “My name is Logan, by the way.”

“Don’t care.”

Logan does in fact get cast as Proteus and Veronica is cast as Silvia. Her friend Mac is cast as the world’s most sarcastic Julia which thrills Veronica. Together the two of them make sure that someone always teases or pokes fun at Logan. Always to his face because they’re not savages. He laughs when it’s Mac. He preens when it’s Veronica.  

In their first week of rehearsal she discovers Logan’s last name is Echolls and, yes, he is in fact the son of _that Echolls_. She writes him off as being the kind of privileged asshole she left Neptune to get away from. The way he interacts with Eli Navarro, the lighting designer and board op, seems to confirm her suspicions. She also notices he’s quick to change the subject if people bring up his dad.

In their second week a small group of the cast meets at Stacey’s Diner every night to practice their lines. A couple times they’re the last to leave and he walks her to her car. She tries to remember her dad’s advice about going into an investigation with an open mind.

In their third week of rehearsal he renames the play _The Two Gentlemen of Ve-rone-ica_. She tries not to laugh when she sees he’s sharpied out ‘Verona’ on his script and wrote ‘Veronica’ instead. Later that week the whispers start; members of the cast gossiping about her and Logan. One of the Outlaws calls her a golddigger. She steals Logan’s script and replaces it with a  version that doesn’t have her name on it. He complains that it doesn’t have his blocking notes. She keeps the original.

In their fourth week of rehearsal he suggests they practice their makeout scene. A scene that doesn’t exist. In the much reviled Act V the director has Proteus attempt to kiss Silvia and then Silvia kicks him in the shins. Veronica offers to rehearse that part whenever he wants and points him toward Mac, the girl he’ll actually kiss onstage.

Mac puckers her lips and takes a bite of her roasted garlic pizza. “This is my third piece.”

Logan smiles. “Alright, Mac. Let’s do this.” He takes the pizza slice from her as she’s mid bite and finishes the rest in two chomps. “Equality.” He tosses the pizza crust behind him, not even aiming for the garbage can. Veronica winces when it makes it in. He’s far too smug for his own good.

“How do you have any friends?” Mac asks. She crosses the stage, zig zagging left and right as Logan chases after her.

“Have patience, gentle Julia! Have patience! Come back to me, Julia.”

In their fifth week of rehearsal she sometimes catches him staring. How she reacts is dependent on her mood. She alternates between ignoring him, telling him to quit it, and staring right back. 

It’s during cue to cue in their sixth week that Logan finds her stage right, tucked behind a curtain. “You know,” he says, tapping his fingers to the cover of his script. “Not one of Shakespeare’s finest.”

She nods in agreement, her eyes on the stage. “It could have been _Cymbeline_.”

“Praise god for little favors.”

Veronica chuckles, nodding again.

“Momentous occasion, Mars. We just agreed on something. I’m going to write about it later in my feelings journal.”

She rolls her eyes and bumps his arm with her shoulder. “That’s your cue.”

Before she realizes it’s happening Logan is in front of her, clasping her hands to his chest. “When possible I can, I will return.” He presses a quick kiss to her knuckles and then rushes forward to meet Wallace and Piz in perfect time for their entrance.

She feels as if he’s outmaneuvered her and his wink in her direction confirms it. if she thought stealing his script and keeping some physical distance would dishearten him, she was mistaken. The guy almost delights in being knocked down and bouncing back.  

She watches him in the scene, the knuckles of her hand still faintly tingling from the memory of his lips pressed there. It rankles that she’s not as immune to his charms as she thought. 

She stands up straighter, crossing her arms as Logan and Wallace move stage left. Again she reminds herself she went to school for four years with guys like Logan Echolls. She left Neptune to escape guys like Logan Echolls.

She ignores him through the next two nights of tech and the university donor invited dress, only speaking to him when they’re onstage together. His initial confusion at her chilly demeanor quickly gives way to a calm acceptance. Almost like he expected this would happen.

Opening night comes and her whole body hums with nervous energy in anticipation of performing. It doesn’t even matter that the auditorium only holds two-hundred people. It feels bigger than that. But there’s something about her new discordant relationship with Logan that mutes her enjoyment of the experience.

They see each other in the green room once they’ve changed into their costumes. He nods and offers her less-than-half of a smile. “Break a leg, Veronica.”

“You too.” When she doesn’t say anything else, he turns around and heads back into the dressing room.

Wallace and Mac are sitting on one of the green room couches going over their lines. They’re also pretending they didn’t just witness the pleasantly awkward exchange between her and Logan. It’s a kind thing to do and Veronica shakes her head at herself.

Their stage manager sweeps through the room. “Curtain in ten, actors.”

The entire cast replies. “Thank you, ten.”

“Did you hear?” She groans because she knows that voice. She looks behind her to find Tim Foyle, leaning against a wall with practiced ease. He’s currently dressed for his part as Antonio but has a few different roles to play. Regardless of the part, Veronica wants to smack his smug little face.  

She circles her hand in an ‘on-with-it’ gesture. She’s not going to indulge him for longer than necessary.

“There’s like a fleet of paparazzi out there. A few live news feeds too, apparently.”

“I didn’t even know this city had paparazzi,” she says.

“Why are they here?” Mac asks.

Tim smiles at them both in that condescending way of his. Veronica tamps down the urge to yank out a handful of hair from his terrible goatee. It’d be satisfying if not productive.  

“Why do you think? Can’t you see the headlines now? ‘Son of a movie star in college Shakespeare production.’ ‘Son of a movie star following in dad’s footsteps.’ Story writes itself.”

“How do they know he’s in the show?” Wallace asks. “Logan and his dad don’t really keep up with each other.”

Veronica frowns at that statement because, 1) she didn’t know Logan has a tense relationship with his dad, or 2) that he and Wallace were close enough friends to talk about it.  

“Wouldn’t be the first time an attention seeking celebutante called the paparazzi on himself,” Tim says.

“No, it wouldn’t.” There’s a sudden and oppressive quiet that falls over the cast at the sound of Logan’s voice. His eyes dart down to briefly meet Veronica’s before he glares at Tim. “Shouldn’t we be getting to places?”

“Oh, so you’re the stage manager now too?” Tim asks.

Veronica flashes back to that first meeting with Logan. The moment when she quickly and decidedly wrote him off as a dick. At least Logan was a good-natured-smiling-dick. Tim Foyle is the type of dickish-sociopath you see profiled on Crime TV. Or working as a correspondent on Fox News.

“For God’s sake, Tim,” Veronica says. “Stop being such a douche.” Several members of the cast laugh at her outburst. Mac and Wallace applaud. Logan does that thing where he scratches the back of his head in embarrassment. All of it delights Veronica.

Tim clenches his jaw but is interrupted from responding further by the stage manager’s return. “Actors, places.”

“Thank you places.” Veronica almost shouts the word in Tim’s stupid face.

The show itself goes smoothly enough for an opening night. A couple sound cues are a second later than they should be. She supposes that’s what the director gets for trusting Corny with responsibility.

There’s also an incident that occurs when the group of Outlaws lead Silvia offstage. Outlaw number one is Tim Foyle himself and he takes an elbow to the stomach when Veronica thrashes a little more than she did in rehearsal. If the director or stage manager asks she’ll calmly explain the adrenaline got to her.

There’s no standing ovation but the audience seems to enjoy the show well enough. The stage manager skips giving notes that night which means the only thing separating Veronica from celebrating with her friends is a costume change.

Mac and Wallace are up for going out. Piz’s family is visiting from Oregon so will go out with them the next night. She isn’t even aware she’s standing in the middle of the green room searching for someone specific until Wallace’s voice startles her.

“I can’t find him either.”

“Maybe he already left?” Mac suggests.

Wallace shakes his head. “Nah. The reporters are still here. They got a few at every door.”

Veronica toes at the carpet, working out both where Logan could be and a way to get him out of the building undetected.

“What are you thinkin,’ V?”

“Has Piz left yet?”

“He’s finishing packing up his stuff.”

“How tall is he?”

“I don’t know. Couple inches taller than me. 5’10” maybe?”

“Dammit,” Veronica mutters.

“What about Kurt?” Mac suggests.

“He’s tall. Very tall.” Veronica looks up and put her arms in the air. Kurt plays Valentine, Silvia’s love interest. She mimes looping her arms around someone’s neck, imagining the moment at the end of Act V. “Maybe 6’4”? Taller than Logan.”

“So he’ll slouch,” Wallace says. He’s already backing out of the green room and into the men’s dressing room. “Hey! Kurt. We need a quick favor.” 

* * *

After checking backstage and the costume shop, she finds Logan up in the tech booth. The work lights are on, flooding the stage with an even wash of light but the house lights are turned off.

His feet are propped up on the shelf directly below the light board and he leans back in his chair. He’d look serene if it wasn’t for the tight line of his mouth and the tension in his shoulders.

“Eli’s going to be pissed if you touch his board.”

He startles, his feet dropping to the floor. “Eli and I have an arrangement. If I don’t touch his board he’ll accidentally miss Tim’s spot in Act I.”

“Well you’re secret friends with everyone aren’t you?” He looks at her for a second and his brow furrows. She skips past offering an explanation. “I think the reporters cleared out. If you want to escape. I’m meeting Mac and Wallace for food somewhere.”

“Ah,” he says, sitting up. The tension is back in his shoulders; like he’s bracing himself for something. “So, you gonna ask me if I did it? Did attention seeking Logan Echolls tip off the paparazzi about his onstage debut?”

“Hey. I wouldn’t be here if I thought you did.” She takes a step closer and Logan reaches out to wrap his hand around her wrist. With an insistent but gentle tug he pulls her closer. She stands directly in front of him. Even with him sitting they’re almost eye to eye.

“Have you been avoiding me?”

“Do I look like I’m avoiding you?”

“Do you always answer questions with more questions?”

“Would it bother you if I said yes?”

He smiles at her. A wide almost childlike toothy grin. She smiles back in kind. She wonders if he’s going to kiss her and finds the thought isn’t unwelcome. Technically he does, leaning forward just enough to brush his lips across her forehead. “Are we friends now, Veronica?”

She nods, closing her eyes tight. “Of course we’re friends.”

“Are you my girlfriend?”

She shakes her head. “We haven’t even gone on a date.”

He laughs at that and they’re still close enough she feels his breath puff out against her skin. “Come on,” he says, pulling away from her. “We’ll go celebrate our stage debut with omelets.”

“If you finish Stacey’s twelve egg one it’s free.” It’s likely one of the least sexy things she’s ever said, but it still comes out all breathy. “I’ll text Mac.”

“Sounds perfect.” He tucks a strand of hair behind her ear then trails his fingers down her arm and clasps her hand in his. It’s smooth enough she wonders if he’s thought about this. “Bear witness, heaven, I have my wish forever.”

Veronica rolls her eyes and tugs on his hand, pulling him off his seat. He rotates so he can reach the light board with his other hand, turning off the work lights in favor of the ghost light.

“Told you Proteus gets the girl,” Logan says.

“Shut up, you ass, and buy me an omelet.”

“From ‘dick’ to ‘ass’ in just seven weeks. Going to file that as an improvement.”

She drives them to the diner and Logan holds her hand the whole way, only letting go long enough for her to shift.

She thought she knew who Logan was from their first interaction in that hallway. As they drive, she wonders if Logan is hundreds of miles from home for the same reason she is. Maybe he needed a fresh start too.

And maybe both of their fresh starts include Shakespeare and twelve-egg omelets.


	7. Espresso Con Panna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Free day! (aka -- do whatever you want!)** \- Inspired by all those people (self included) who drink a lot of coffee and become weirdly territorial about their favorite coffee spots. The people who have preferences about where they sit, and chair placement, and vary the drink they order depending on which barista is working. 
> 
> The seventh (and final) AU in the Veronica Mars Movie Anniversary series. Logan discovers the coffee shop around the corner from his new condo.

The movers finish unloading his possessions just after noon and he’s almost sad to see them go because the responsibility for setting up his new condo is now firmly in his hands. His furniture is at least in the correct rooms and now it’s a sea of boxes that need to be unpacked and organized. There’s a reason he took tomorrow off from work as he expects to use the next thirty-six hours to order the mess before him.

He indulges in a final moment of blatant procrastination and stands out on his patio. It’s large enough to host a complete set of patio furniture, a BBQ, and several rectangular flower planters. The latter are a housewarming gift from his almost sister Heather. Logan only accepted the gift once she promised she’d remind him to water the plants.

The patio is also blissfully fenced in so he doesn’t have to worry about semi-awkward conversations with sunbathing housewives. Or the occasional paparazzi hard up enough for photos to think Logan might still be a story.

The task before him requires caffeine and while his espresso machine is unpacked he has no idea where the coffee itself is. Or mugs. Or spoons. However, he knows from prior visits to the neighborhood that there is a coffee shop within walking distance. If the coffee is decent he anticipates it’ll be his saving grace for years to come.

The name itself is puzzling, Sea Monkey Roasters, but he’s all but given up on the reasons for and why restaurants are named what they are. Inside he’s relieved to find a kitsch-less space. The only picture of a monkey is on the bottom corner of the menu board hanging behind the espresso machine. One wall is comprised of almost entirely windows with bar seating running the length of it. A few communal tables are scattered throughout the space with enough two and four tops to provide individuals or small groups places to gather. The only element that seems out of place is a rather large model airplane suspended from the ceiling. Logan looks up and smiles at the name. The plane is apparently the Sea Monkey and he wonders what came first – the coffee shop or the model.

The place is busy enough for a Sunday afternoon – there’s a few people ahead of him in line and a young married couple enter right behind him. There are still plenty of places to sit and Logan files the location away as a potential work spot to use on days he avoids the office. As he scans the seating options, silently cataloging the placement of electrical outlets, he sees her.

She’s frowning at her text book like the pages within are offensive. Then she exacts her revenge on them by highlighting the pages and scribbling notes with such fervor he’s afraid the book might catch fire. The table she sits at is large enough to accommodate a few people but the surface is covered with notecards, looseleaf pages, and a series of dishware.

He’s hypnotized by her swirl of blonde hair and the furrow of her brow. And _yup_ he’s definitely staring.

He’s made aware of that fact when the woman behind him clears her throat. As he puts in his order for a large Americano (wondering why the man who took his order seems amused by his presence) and then doctors his drink with cream, he considers his options. If he were to take a lap around the building he could walk directly past the window she’s studying next to. Perhaps get a look at her left hand. Do reconnaissance. Or ‘casually’ catch her eye and give her the patented one-two combo of a smirk and raised eyebrow.

He takes a sip of his coffee and almost flees the coffee shop. Staring at the woman in silence for about thirty seconds is enough creeping for one day. Besides, she might be in a relationship even if she’s not married. Or suck as a person. Or drive a pastel colored scooter for god’s sake. His romantic notions have gotten him into trouble before (and once before that and again a time before that) and he’s determined to do it differently this time. New condo. New Logan.

As he walks home he makes plans to return to the coffee shop the following day.

It’s during his fourth visit to Sea Monkey that he hears her voice for the first time. She’s at the same table from before and in much the same position – books scattered, at least three coffee mugs abandoned, and a stack of notes she’s rifling through. This time, though, someone else has also noticed her.

Logan has a nice view of the back of her head as he stirs the half and half into his coffee. He takes his time and pretends not to notice the guy in the leather jacket approaching her table.

“Yo, what’s up?”

Logan snorts at that and covers it with a cough. This must be a friend of hers. One who is purposefully acting like an ass to make her laugh. But then she sits up straight in her chair and appears to double the attention on her notes. So, maybe not.

“All alone. Drinking coffee. Want some coffee? I’m just kidding.”

She tilts her head back to look up at the guy. His eyes widen a fraction and then he lets out a tense chuckle. Logan might not be able to see her face but if the guy’s expression is anything to go by she possesses a serious set of murder eyes.

“Yo, see that guy over there?” She makes no effort to look where the guy gestures with his coffee cup. “That’s my boy Broyden. And he was looking at you and made him premature in his pants.”

Logan wonders if she has wished so hard to be anywhere but _here_ that her spirit has transcended to a different place. She’s just staring at the guy – hasn’t moved a fraction of an inch.

“Also, he thinks you’re really cool. He’s a good guy. Honestly, he’s a good guy.”

She waits another beat to respond. Logan expects a long dressing down but her response is succinct and direct: “Fuck off.” Her head tilts back down to her notes.

Leather Jacket almost scampers away and Logan feels the need to do the same but waits for a second. While this woman is clearly a force he wants to make sure Leather Jacket and Broyden (is that even a real name?) don’t make a scene. It’s been a couple years since he punched a guy, but he could probably do it again in a pinch.

He spends the next hour staring at the pages of work he brought with him but not processing the words. Instead he spends his time puzzling over why he possesses the impulse to defend a woman whose name he doesn’t even know.

 _Veronica._ It takes three weeks and almost a dozen additional visits but he finally learns her name. He worked out early on that she is well acquainted with Wallace, the guy who owns the coffee shop. As a regular Logan has built an easy camaraderie with the man who he swears must live under the espresso machine counter.

Logan has taken to blocking off Tuesdays and Thursdays as days to read the new manuscripts his assistant earmarks for him. Home proves to be too distracting so Sea Monkey has become his office away from office.

He usually sees her on at least one of those days and sometimes (glory hallelujah!) on both. He’s halfway through reading a promising urban fantasy manuscript when she bursts into the coffee shop like it’s her home and not a business.

“Stanford can kiss my ass.” She marches straight towards Wallace like he is the source of her fury.

“Can they now?” Wallace steams milk for her latte and she helps herself to three biscotti from the jar on the counter.

“My dissertation is a joke.” She bites into one of the biscotti, scattering crumbs across the counter. “My methods are shoddy and unfocused. My research committee is going to laugh at me –“

“And the other kids on the playground will pull your pigtails?” He slides the beverage and a plate for the cookies across the counter.“Your table’s open. Go work.” She pulls out some cash from her back pocket and Wallace waves it away. “Your money’s no good here.”

She picks up the plate of biscotti with one hand and the coffee with the other. “What if after all this they don’t want me, Wallace?”  If Logan’s table was any further away he’d have missed the tentative note to her voice. It’s something that hasn’t been present in the few past conversations of hers he’s overheard.

“You’re kidding me, right? You think they’re really gonna say no to you? Dr. Veronica Mars has an irresistible ring to it.”

Logan wants to offer his encouragement alongside Wallace’s. Maybe mention that anyone who approaches a task with her patented ferocity will be fine, but he doesn’t. Instead he turns her name over in his mind.

 _Veronica Mars._ He likes the sound of it. He likes her.

Turns out he’s not the only one to have noticed her. Over the next few weeks he discovers she’s routinely hit on and never appears interested. ‘Fuck Off,’ strangely enough, is her phrase of choice. (She said it to her text book once and seemed startled by her own outburst.)  He understands. She’s there to work not be ogled. It should inspire him to find a new location to work. More time in her presence will only lead to him doing something supremely stupid.

But then one day he looks up from the manuscript in front of him and discovers that _she_ is watching _him_. They lock eyes for a breath of a second and then she looks away, but it’s enough encouragement to come back the next day. When the lightning speed staring contests continue in the days ahead Logan decides to add Saturday visits to his weekday ones. Just in case.

They speak for the first time on a Tuesday. She passes by his table and he barely resists sucking in his stomach, as if that will show him off to greater advantage. He’d laugh at himself if he wasn’t having a hard time breathing because she’s standing _there_. He looks up at the sound of her ‘ahem.’

“You highlighted your lip,” she says, and touches the corner of her mouth. “There.”

He absently smudges at the spot, more than a little flustered by her presence. _Breathe._ “I wanted you to be able to find it later.” He winces. _Idiot_. “I mean –”

“You wanted me to find your lip?” She sounds genuinely curious, which is the only reason he keeps talking.

He waves a hand in front of his mouth as if presenting it for her appraisal. “Well, yes. It’s quite useful.”

“What can it do?”

 _Damn._ It takes him a second to recover. He’s hopped up on adrenaline and didn’t think she’d volley the innuendo. Thought it more likely she’d roll her eyes or groan and stomp off. The desire to push their interaction a little further wells up within him.

“Well, I can’t play the kazoo but I know how to hum.”

She smirks at that and nods a little, impressed by his answer. He doesn’t know what the test was but he thinks he passed.

In fact, testing one another becomes a natural part of their interaction. He loses count of who’s scored more points in the game they seem to be playing.

He thinks he wins the day she learns his name.  It starts when he feels her looking over his shoulder, trying to read the name on his credit card receipt as he signs. He blocks her with his shoulder until she huffs out a resigned sigh. “Is your name really ‘Loony Evils’?”

“Logan Echolls.”

“Ah. That makes more sense.”

Once he’s settled at his table he hears her hiss at Wallace, “Shut up.” Wallace laughs at her indignant expression and Logan smiles into his mug.

By the time he realizes he knows the scent of her perfume, the light citrusy scent heralding her presence in the coffee shop before he ever sees her, he’s halfway to falling in love.  The most torturous moments are when she stands behind him in line. When her perfume mixes with the scent of cookies and he wonders if it smells the same in the space between her neck and shoulder as it does lingering in the air between them.

He shakes himself from that thought and attempts to order a blueberry muffin only to be stopped with a “You really don’t want to do that, Loony.”

“Really?” he asks, leaning his hip against the counter.

“Get the apple cinnamon. Trust me.”

He orders the apple cinnamon.

Call him a fool but the thing is he does trust her because, pathetically, he feels like he knows her. At the very least he knows things about her. He knows she has breakfast with her dad every Wednesday and dinner on Sunday. And that the ‘they’ she’s worried won’t want her is the FBI. And that she has a dog named Bailiff she adopted from the animal shelter.

 _Fuck_. He needs to do something.

It’s just that it feels fragile, almost, and he’s scared to wreck it. Which is why after three months of staring, and flirting, and snarking, he hasn’t asked her out. (He bought her a cookie once, when he noticed there was only one snickerdoodle left but that’s it.)

It’s a question he asks himself frequently: How did fourteen year old Logan land the most popular girl in school within days of starting high school but grown up, made his own fortune, owns a condo (with a patio!) Logan is incapable of asking for a woman’s number?

The informal standoff builds and finally crests on a busy Saturday morning.

Wallace is at the register, greeting regulars with ease and affable smiles. The two baristas do that thing where they appear calm but are actually busting their asses to keep up with the string of customers. Logan sits with a newspaper and his second cup of coffee on the off-chance Veronica will make an appearance. Also, he feels comfortable in this place now. Has a favorite table. Opinions on the best pastries. (Veronica was wrong. The blueberry is superior.)

He’s absorbed in reading a puff piece in the local section when he hears her barely audible “Damn it” somewhere behind him. He cranes his neck and there she stands – coffee in one hand, laptop tucked under her arm, scanning the tables to find them all occupied.

He smiles. It’s high time to make some progress. “Okay. Enough with the begging. You can sit down.”

The glare she throws his way must be a gut reaction. Once she processes who is speaking to her she lets out a breath of relief and nods gratefully. “You won’t even notice I’m here.”

But he does notice. Every detail of her presence is amplified and his reaction would be embarrassing if she wasn’t doing a fair bit of noticing him too.

She shifts in her chair and bumps his foot with hers. The glint in her eye and the way she faux casually bites her lip tells him it’s on purpose. He stretches and sees her watch the hem of his Henley as it lifts a couple inches. It wasn’t intentional the first time but after her reaction he does it again. She clears her throat and refocuses, narrowing her eyes at her laptop.

It’s an exquisite sort of brutal torture and he doesn’t think he can take much more. He starts cleaning up the table to leave it to her. _Ever the gentleman_ , he thinks.

“You done, Loony?”

He rolls his eyes at the nickname but nods. How can they have nicknames for each other but never have formally introduced themselves? “Heading home.”

“You live nearby?”

He quirks an eyebrow. Her tone might be breezy but he hears a trap being set. “Yeah. Just around the corner.”

The lid of her laptop closes with a quiet snick. “Thanks for asking. I’d love to see your place.”

“Would you now?”

“Come on, Loony. You know you’re dying to make me a sandwich.” She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table. “Grilled cheese maybe. I bet you’re rich enough to have some fancy cheese to throw in there.”

“Sounds like you think you have my number.”

“I know I do.”

He folds up his newspaper, trying not to give away how her words have triggered a frantic beating of his pulse. “Girls like you are always after one thing.”

She nods in complete agreement. “We gotta get that cheese.”

The next morning they come into the coffee shop together, her neatly tucked under his arm, their fingers tangled together. She’s wearing her jeans from the day before but his UCLA sweatshirt. Wallace bursts out laughing the moment he sees them and Veronica stalks towards the counter.

“Shut up, Fennel.”

“No. I don’t think I will.”

Logan steps forward and pecks her on the cheek. “I don’t think I will either.”


End file.
